How To Carry On?
by HR always live on
Summary: Harry is left on his own. The love of his life has died, and he feels he is to blame. Post series ten, canon. Afraid there is no miraculous recovery for Ruth. Multi chapter fic, focusing on how Harry will cope with life after Ruth. Now complete
1. Chapter 1

**No miraculous recovery for Ruth, I'm sorry to say. Canon, following from about two weeks after Ruth's death. First chapter is simply musing on Harry's internal workings, and I will be going on from there.**

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Harry awoke with a pounding head and the smell of whisky in his nose. God, he'd had another night of finishing the whisky bottle. Logically he knew he was fast turning into an alcoholic but he couldn't stop. It was the only way he had to cope with the fact that Ruth was dead. **_Dead_**. He could barely think that word to himself. It was cold, bleak and final. _It is final Harry_, her logical voice said in his mind. He shook his head to clear the image and echo of her words from his consciousness. With a whisky addled brain, any movement like that was a mistake. His head kept ringing as he slowly and precariously got out of bed. While he dressed he kept his movements slow and measured and attempted to keep his mind empty. It was a tactic that never worked, it never made the pain shrink, but it made him able to function on a basic human level.

He hadn't given up work. He would have if Ruth was still here with him, because of her wonderful dream for the pair of them. Living together in retirement, in a little cottage by the sea. As if they were the most normal people in the world. But she wasn't here. She was buried under six feet of cold hard earth in a cemetery in Exeter, near to her fathers resting place. Harry held back a sob with difficulty. Thinking of his Ruth as anything less than alive was extremely painful and he didn't know if it would ever feel any other way. If he'd ever be able to think of her smile with a little happiness rather than overwhelming sadness and bitterness and stolen chances that choked him now.

With an unsteady breath he picked out a red tie (as years ago Ruth had mentioned in passing that she liked his red ties more than five years ago) and slid his jacket on. Over the past two weeks he felt like he was barely existing, just going through the motions. He couldn't think far past Ruth's death. The moment Sasha stabbed her and he simply stood there. Letting her take a fatal injury meant for him. Sasha had no argument with Ruth, she'd got in the way of his main target. Harry. If only he'd thrown her out of the way and let Sasha have him. He would not be in this current torment. He'd rather be dead, if it meant Ruth was alive. She would have grieved for him, that he knew. Maybe intensely and desperately, but she was young enough to move on. With time. Harry himself never would. But then again maybe that was underestimating the strength of love she had felt towards him. Harry wouldn't be surprised. He was constantly underestimating Ruth. One of his many, many flaws. And she had known them all, and loved him in spite of them.

He didn't doubt that she had loved him. Ruth had never said it and nor he, but in their relationship it had always been the things they didn't say that mattered most. The subtleties. The looks between them and the yearning. The heartache they'd lived with everyday. He had never told her how he felt, but that was not his biggest regret, not by far. She knew how he felt, as he did her. It would have been special and momentous for them to have it put into words, but somehow he felt their love went beyond words. It was more than that. No, his biggest regret was never confiding in her about the Gavrik's. This mess could have been completely avoided if he'd done that from the very start. And Ruth might still be alive now. Breathing. Heart beating. Existing. Simply alive.

"Stop it Pearce," he said to himself. Thinking of Ruth was not helping him, even though he did nothing else for the majority of every single day. He looked in the mirror and knew he needed a shave but didn't go near his razor. Razor blades in his current mood weren't a healthy combination. He might do something stupid. Not that the thought hadn't crossed his mind, but Ruth had thought him stronger than that. He would not disappoint her again as he had so often in life. Going downstairs he concentrated on not tripping over his own feet and then he collected his phone and his keys from the kitchen table. Probably not being sober enough to drive he called a taxi. An alcoholic depressive mourning his soul mate he might be. But he didn't have a death wish.

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**Should I carry on?**


	2. Chapter 2

Harry was aware of the stares and sympathetic glances he was getting as he walked into his office. It had happened ever since the funeral when he had come back to work. He anticipated it stopping soon, but it was an awful thing to be confronted with first thing in the morning. When he sat down he noticed a few random files resting on his desk, waiting for his attention. They weren't organised in any fashion at all. Unlike when Ruth gave them to him. She always ordered them from desperately urgent through to mindless but necessary paperwork. He appreciated that more than ever now. Now that she was no longer here. So many things he didn't think he'd miss which had now been thrown into painful relief.

Ruth's desk was still empty. They needed a new analyst but Harry kept saying no, much to everyone else's chagrin. They were taking up the extra work, but Harry couldn't bear to see Ruth's desk filled by someone else. As soon as she'd left for the Home Office, her desk had been cleaned out, files returned to registry and every vestige of her personal space had been removed. It had caused him a slight twinge of pain at the time, but now that she was dead, it felt so much worse.

During the work day his eyes lingered on her desk more often than was healthy. It was painful, seeing the emptiness there, where she'd used to be. But it would be worse if someone else sat there, doing Ruth's work. It would almost be as if she'd never existed, and Harry knew that would be worse. Almost impossible to bear.  
He looked at Ruth's empty desk again, swallowing away the lump in his throat before he realised his phone was ringing. "Pearce."

"Harry, I need a word," Erin said calmly. "Is it okay if I come into your office? I know you're busy."

"Yes Miss Watts," Harry said icily. "Its fine. And I would appreciate it if you stopped treading on eggshells when you're around me. I'm not going to explode."

"Sorry," she said after a seconds silence. "We're just worried about you."

"What do you want?" Harry said bluntly.

"I'll be in with the file." The line went dead and Harry took a deep breath, trying to keep it together. Soon enough there was a brief knock on the door and Erin appeared. Harry appreciated the knock immensely. Only Ruth would be able to do that, and after one horrifying occasion everyone now knocked on Harry's office door. Erin hadn't when Harry came back to work and he'd broken down. He'd simply lost his reason and cried, wanting to see the only person who would ever be able to enter his office without knocking just once. He wanted to see her just once more.

"Harry?"

"Sorry, Erin," he said in a low voice. "I wasn't listening."

"I was saying…" Erin started hesitantly. "We need a new analyst. I know you're reluctant to hire anyone, but Callum is drowning in paperwork. He can't cope, and its making the strain worse than necessary here."

"Erin… I know," Harry said feeling the pain sting his heart even as he made the admission. "I know we have too much work, and I know we need someone else. As much as it hurts me to admit it."

"Okay," Erin said, amazed that he'd actually agreed. He'd been fighting it every time she brought it up since Ruth had gone to work for the Home Office. "I have some preliminary applications," Erin said, her grip tightening on the file in question.

"I'll look at them," he said with difficulty. His voice was faint to his own ears but he held out his hand for the file anyway. Erin passed it to him in silence. "Thank you Erin," he said. She recognised her dismissal and left his office, closing the door quietly behind her. Harry looked at the innocuous file as if it were a bomb that was going to explode. Ruth was a logical and practical person, as well as every other decent quality she had. She would have known he would need… her replacement. God, he felt like he was betraying her. How could anyone replace Ruth?

He took a deep steadying breath and opened the file. The world didn't end. With difficulty he read through the applications. There were only ten in there, and it didn't take long. Five went on the no pile straight away. One studied at Oxford, one studied classics and Harry couldn't bear to be with people who had such a similar history to hers. Two women were brunettes with blue eyes, so they were a no too, and one man simply didn't have the necessary experience that they would need from their new analyst.

Which left five candidates left, and to be honest he really didn't care who would be sitting in Ruth's seat. All that mattered to him was it wouldn't be her. Leaving his office, he gave the half size folder back to Erin. "I trust your judgement," he said quietly. "I've taken out the one's I don't like. You can pick one, I don't care."

"Okay, thank you Harry," she said sincerely. "I know this is difficult for you."

"Difficult doesn't even begin to describe it," Harry said honestly. "Anyway, do you need me to do anything?"

"No," Erin said, looking through the folder and disappointed that her favourite candidate had been removed. But she didn't argue as Harry was open to filling Ruth's seat. It was more progress than she'd made this far. "Thanks." Harry walked heavily back to his office and put his head in his hands. It felt more final every single day. Her loss. Her death.

"I'm such a fool," he said to himself. As his eyes closed he relived those moments when she'd been stabbed. Her warm blood leaving her body, even as he tried to stem the flow, willing her to hold on until the paramedics got there. "Oh God Ruth." He choked back a sob, just as the phone rang. He ran his hands almost violently over his face, calming down before he answered it. "Yes?"

"Harry, its Claudia Brown."

It took a minute for him to place her. Then he remembered. She was a journalist of the non irritating kind. Meaning if he wanted her to sit on a story, she would. She was a useful contact so he couldn't do what he wanted to do and just hang up. "Hi Claudia. What can I do for you?"

"Couldn't remember who I was eh?" she said, sounding amused rather than offended.

"Sorry, I've had… a bad couple of weeks," he said honestly. But no way would he explain the reason behind it.

"Well, now that you have, would you like to come out for a drink with me sometime?"

Harry froze. "No!" Then he realised that he'd sounded needlessly harsh. This woman knew nothing about his romantic history (or lack of it) with Ruth. It was not her fault. "Sorry. I don't mean to sound so… I can't."

"Okay," she said easily. "It was just a thought. So how are things going over in the deepest darkest realms of MI5?"

"Surprisingly peaceful," Harry replied.

"Mm, like you'd tell me anything else," she said amused.

"No, I probably wouldn't," he agreed.

She seemed to sense the heaviness in his voice and she sighed. "I'm sorry I called," she said. "You're clearly not in a friendly mood."

"Claudia, it isn't that," he said. He took a deep breath and then decided to admit what had happened. Why it felt like he was falling apart everyday. "I've… recently I lost someone. She's… dead. I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude…"

"I now feel like a tactless bitch," Claudia said, making Harry almost smile. "Forget I called."

"Not your fault," Harry said. "Was there any professional reason you called?"

"I'm sad to say no," she said after a moments pause. "Bye Harry. Next time I call I promise I won't be so… insensitive."

"You weren't to know," he said quietly. "Bye." Harry grimaced as he put the phone down and felt a cold wave of grief overwhelm him yet again. He went for his whisky, not caring how early it was. Then he remembered. He'd finished the bottle yesterday. Harry felt shaky as thoughts of Ruth drowned him once again.

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**Hope this isn't too repetitive. Thanks for the encouragement so far**.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry was ready to go home (via an off-licence to top up his whisky stores) and had left his office when Erin stopped him. "Harry, we have a problem."

"When don't we?" he said in a low voice. "Okay, what is it?"

"It appears that one of our working agents has given a report to newspaper about life in the service. A no holds barred interview, exposing all kinds of dirty things we've done in the past."

"Which agent?" Harry asked.

"We don't know," Erin said. "Its going to be published tomorrow morning from the intel we're getting. The presses start in an hour. We have that long to talk sense into the newspaper."

"Let me guess," Harry said. "Claudia Brown, The Independent's head of current news events will be the one running the story," he said darkly as earlier events clicked in his head.

"How did…?" Erin tailed off. "Never mind."

"Do you know where she is now?" Harry asked.

"Julian's wine bar," Callum said, watching the CCTV. "She's on her own."

"Why am I not surprised," Harry said. "Get me a car. I'll talk sense into her."

"Harry, I'm not sure that's the best idea, what with you in your condition…" Callum started. The icy gaze on Harry's face made it clear he'd said exactly the wrong thing. No one moved even a muscle. Not even to blink.

"Mr Reed, have I given anyone any impression at all that I cannot do the job I've been doing for the last thirty years to the needed standard?" Harry asked, glaring at him.

"No. Not at all. I… forget I said anything," Callum stuttered.

"My car please," Harry added, still in his harshest gruffest tone. Callum picked up the phone to order one as life slowly resumed on the grid. Harry took a deep breath and held it inside for a moment, counting to ten to calm himself. Hitting Callum wouldn't help, especially when he'd probably simply voiced what everyone was thinking. Harry went through the pods and down to the promised car.

He was halfway to the wine bar when he realised that in the last fifteen minutes he hadn't thought about Ruth once. He felt guilty, but it passed shockingly quickly. He'd been angry which had been the only reason her loss had vanished so quickly from his mind, mere minutes before. She'd never liked it when he shouted and got angry. It wasn't a side of him she admired, and because he knew that, he had tried to hold on to his temper when she'd been on the grid. Now that his heart rate was calming down, he managed to think of her once again. The look on her face when she was disappointed with him, which even at the time had cut him to the core.

That wasn't a happy thought, but it matched the bleakness of his mood perfectly.  
The car stopped outside the bar, jolting his mind out of thoughts of Ruth. He had to decide how to play this and quickly. Biting his lip he got out of the car and quickly went through to the trendy and modern wine bar. It was relatively empty at the moment, being very early in the evening, but he spotted Claudia almost instantly. She was sat by the bar, a glass of rosé in front of her, facing away from him. Harry hadn't seen her for about four years, but she did look just as he'd remembered. A woman in her late forties, medium blonde hair, thin and beautiful. Had he been interested of course, which he wasn't. Never had been. And no one could possibly hold a candle to Ruth anyway. Her understated beauty, her quiet intelligence and her uncomplicated blue eyes…

Harry shook himself when he realised he'd been staring into space, lost in thought and approached Claudia, sitting next to her. "I thought you declined a drink with me Harry," she said smiling, her brown eyes open and honest. Far too honest for a ruthless journalist, he thought to himself.

"You have an interview I want. You can't publish it."

"My lawyers have looked at it," Claudia said. "Apparently I can."

"Drink?" the barman asked, interrupting.

"Yes, I'll have a double scotch with ice, on Miss Brown's tab please."

"Charming," she said but didn't object. "You know how to treat a lady don't you?"

"I do," he agreed. "But you're a journalist, so it barely counts."

"Ah, we always come to that little flaw don't we?" she said, smiling at him.

"You can't publish that interview," Harry repeated.

"Its not got anything inflammatory in it," Claudia said. "Nothing relating to current or future operations, and all names have been changed so its anonymous. It is in breech of the official secrets act and could cause me a bit of a fine, but that's doable."

"Claudia…" She turned and looked at Harry's determined gaze for a long moment as he picked up his drink. "This is why you called this morning. I'm not in the mood for mind games or a grudge match. Please."

"Its not on the presses," she said quietly. "I have written it, and its safely backed up on several devices, should MI5 decide to steal it from me…" she paused here as if to add weight to her words. "I was going to try and persuade you to let me print. Which is one of the reasons I asked you for a drink, but not the main one. But after this mornings conversation I felt that would be a bit… hard hearted to say the least." Harry felt shocked that his personal situation would even come into it. It clearly showed on his face because she smiled to herself. "I may be a journalist but I'm not a complete bitch, Harry. You were not in the mood to be swapping jibes and treading softly trying to dig out information."

"No and I'm still not," he said firmly. He closed his eyes and took a fortifying gulp of whisky.

"How long has she been gone?" Claudia asked gently. "If you don't mind me asking."

"Only… just seventeen days," Harry said, feeling his heart racing and his mouth going dry. Had it really been just seventeen days? A little over two weeks? Impossible. How can his life have completely changed in such a short space of time? But then again, his life had fallen apart with the few seconds it took to stab someone.

"And you're still at work?" she asked, clearly surprised. "Take some time off. Grieve for her. She clearly meant a lot to you. Just your tone tells me that." Harry drained his glass and Claudia nodded to the bar tender to give him another one. She didn't mind paying for his drinks when he was this sad and depressed.

"I… need to be working," Harry said. "I have nothing else to do. If I'm not here, I'll spend all my time drinking and missing her. Its… better this way. Not by much," he admitted. "But it is better."

"I'm not going to argue," she said. "Its none of my business anyway."

"No," Harry agreed gently. "I just… I didn't think I'd miss her this much. With what she did for a living it did enter my head occasionally. That she might… die. I knew it hurt, but I didn't know it would feel like this. So, so guilty."

"Was it your fault?" Claudia asked.

"Probably," he said. "At least partly, yes it was. She was helping me out of a mess of my own creation." He swallowed some more whisky. "If I'd have known how it would end… I would never have let her even attempt to help me."

"The way you're speaking about her," Claudia said. "You talk like you think she was a decent woman."

"She was," Harry said instantly. There was no doubt about that in his mind. There never had been. "Look, I can't talk about her like this. I find it… difficult."

"Its fine," Claudia said softly. "I'm paying for your drinks anyway." Harry felt the corners of his mouth lift at that. "So I'm not printing anything you'd take issue with. Can I do anything else for you?" He knew she was offering him a way out if he wanted to take it.

"Thank you for being so reasonable," he said.

"You're welcome. I must be going soft in my old age," she said, nodding at the bar tender for another glass of wine for herself.

"I'm sure you'll call if you want anything."

"Yes, I expect I will," she said rather than the snappish retort she wanted to utter. "Bye Harry." He left her, walking out of the bar without swaying, even after the quick intake of alcohol in his system. The car was waiting outside for him and he got into the passenger seat, using his mobile to call the grid.

"Where to sir?"

Harry thought for a moment. Buying some more booze to drown his sorrows or going home? "My house please. Ah Erin," he added as the phone connected. "No, no problems. She's been mollified, although she is keeping the story backed up on several devices. Claudia was not kind enough to share with me which devices they were."

"You must have the magic touch Harry," Erin said. "I know her by reputation alone."

"To be honest I think she felt sorry for me," Harry said. He felt a little worried with how much he'd confided to this relative stranger. That was not like him. He'd survived middle eastern interrogation and yet this woman had made him speak about the worst pain he'd ever encountered with barely a few sentences. That made him… uneasy. "Anyway, I'm going home and I'll see you tomorrow."

"Thanks Harry," Erin said. "I'll see you for more crisis's tomorrow."

"Bye." Harry put the phone down and waited to get home. Pushing thoughts of everything and everyone away forcefully. When he was there he had a long hot shower, trying to drain away every emotion he felt. It didn't exactly work but he felt a little better to be clean and relatively sober. When he slept he wasn't nearly as drunk as he had been, existing through the long days without Ruth.

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**I know where I'm going with this, just not sure how I'm going to get there! Thanks for the reviews so far.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Not too happy with the second half of this chapter, but maybe I'm being too critical...**

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Harry wished he could drift off to sleep. It was a long train journey to Exeter. Three and a half hours and with recent flooding there was diversions too which made it felt even longer. He wouldn't be here at all, but he wanted to visit Ruth's grave. He had only been to the cemetery once, and that was when she was being buried after her funeral. He'd been in too much of a state to even leave flowers for her. He hadn't spoken that day. Words could not display the depth of his grief. It hadn't become any less severe or desperate, but he had learnt to function through it

"This train is now calling at Exeter St Davids," the voice over said. Harry stood up and stretched slightly. He'd been sitting for far too long and he got pins and needles in his feet from the blood flowing back into them. Harry let everyone leave the train before him, having no desire to get caught up in the mad rush of everyone. He'd rather simply wallow in his own loss at is own pace.

It was about a miles walk, but he didn't mind. He paused on the way to get some flowers. It would feel almost disrespectful if he turned up without them. He looked around the florists, hoping to be hit by something that simply said "Ruth" to him. He wasn't. With a sigh he decided on a small collection of roses. They were light colours, pale pink, cream and peach and they were beautiful. He couldn't have gone for red, because that was far too showy. Not very Ruth. No, not her at all. So it had to be the pale ones. They were completely overpriced but he didn't care.

So he continued to the cemetery, small bouquet of flowers in hand. Once through the gate, his feet followed the way to Ruth's grave without him putting any thought into it at all. It came into sight, noticeable because the grass hadn't yet grown over the freshly turned earth. That and the fact that there was half a dozen wreaths and bouquets of flowers which were either dead or dying. Harry gently moved the dead flowers aside and put his ones on her grave. "Hello my love," he whispered. He felt a little foolish, talking when he couldn't be heard, but he hoped that some higher power was listening. Maybe her spirit, her soul… something. He did hope that wherever she was, she could see that he cared and that he still loved her. Simply because she was dead… it didn't change that.

"The grid's still the same as ever," Harry said. "We all miss you. I more than most, but you are missed. We've got a new analyst starting Monday. I'm sure I'll hate her on principle, but apparently she's good. Charlotte something. I hate the fact your desk will be filled Ruth. Deeply. It will never be the same without you, you know that right?" Harry sighed deeply, from his heart and deep in his soul. "I only encouraged you to go to the home office because I thought you'd be safe. I thought the risk would be smaller. Then you got in the way of the Gavrik's. I'm so sorry darling. I'm so, so very sorry, and you will never know how much I wish it was me instead. God, it was all such a mess!" Harry choked back his sobs. Crying over her grave wouldn't do anyone any good, not her and especially not him. "I love you Ruth. Always did. Even when I was too stubborn and pig headed to admit it." He stayed standing there for uncountable minutes. Taking a ragged breath, eventually he left her graveside, only to sit on a bench less than ten feet away from her resting place. If there hadn't already been a bench there Harry would have paid for one to be installed. He needed a bench near Ruth's grave. It felt right somehow.

After a moment the sun came out, shining through the winter clouds weakly. He looked at it for a moment before he suddenly felt someone tugging on his sleeve. He jumped, unable to believe how he hadn't noticed someone creeping up on him. What surprised him the most was that the person who'd disturbed him was a child. Seven or eight maybe, a girl with long dark hair, watching him curiously. "Excuse me," she said in a tiny little voice. "But I was wondering if I could take just one flower please."

Harry felt like shouting at her. How dare she want one of precious Ruth's flowers? He reigned himself in, remembering that the person asking was only a child. "Its just… my big sister's over there," the girl continued. "My mummy can't afford flowers and yours are just so pretty."

Harry immediately softened to the girl, at the same time noting that her jumper was threadbare and she was almost certainly telling the truth. "What colour flower would you like?"

"Pink please," she said, grinning at him eagerly. Harry got up and detached a rose from the bundle.

"Be careful of the thorns," he said as he gave it to her. She took it carefully.

"Thank you!" she said, running off to her mother. Harry watched with interest as she smiled at her mum.

"Oh Ruth, you can't take flowers from peoples graves!" the mother shouted desperately. Harry felt his heart thump uncomfortably in his chest when he heard the girls name. Why did she have to share Ruth's name? So painful.

"I didn't steal it!" the girl shouted indignantly. "I wanted something for Elizabeth!"

"Ruth, I know," the mother said, clearly exasperated. "Where did you get it?" Harry quickly looked away as the girl pointed at him. "You will go and give it back and apologise."

"Muuuum," she moaned.

"Come on." The mother gripped her hand, frog marching her over to Harry. "I'm so sorry," the mother said. "She doesn't know when to keep her mouth shut. Here's your rose."

"Mum, I asked first!" the girl said, completely indignant at this.

"Its fine," Harry said. "Really," he added as the mother looked on in disbelief.

"Ruth… my Ruth I mean… she wouldn't mind sharing."

"Go and put it on Lizzie's grave then," the mother said, kissing Ruth's hair gently before the girl skipped off. "I am sorry, she had no right to ask."

"What's she going to use the flowers for anyway?" Harry said, nodding at Ruth's grave.

"Well, thank you," she said. "I'll leave you." Harry nodded and watched as mother and daughter went to their loved one and paused for a long time. Harry returned to thinking about Ruth but he didn't speak again. Instead he thought over all the time he'd spent with her that could have been used to a better advantage. Just once saying how he felt. But no, he'd been a fool wasting time like they were invincible.

It was only when the rain started coming down that Harry stood up. "I'm going back up to London Ruth. I'll see you next weekend. I promise. Goodbye." He swallowed hard before he left, and he didn't feel calm or at ease for the rest of the day. His heart was still cold, and his soul was still with her. As much as it pained him to think of her, he could do nothing else. She filled every waking moment. It was both a torture and a relief to think of her. But he had no other option.

* * *

Harry managed until Monday morning without drinking an obscene amount of whisky. Coming onto the grid he felt a black fury filling him seeing someone sitting at Ruth's desk. It would always be Ruth's desk to him, no matter who sat there. He'd stopped and was glaring at the occupant who returned his gaze warily. "Hi, I'm the new analyst," she said. "Charlotte Wilson. Am I… doing something wrong."

"No," Harry said harshly. "Nothing!" he hadn't meant to shout but he stormed off to his office and Charlotte looked really concerned.

"Don't worry about it," Erin said to her. "Harry is… he's grieving. The last person who occupied your seat died. He was in love with her. Its not you he has a problem with."

"Oh," Charlotte said. "Am I going to be sacked before I even mess up?"

"No," Erin said. "He is a reasonable man. He's just depressed and grieving."

"Right," Charlotte said. "An inauspicious start."

"Just… knock before you go into his office," Erin suggested.

"I will," Charlotte replied. "Will he kill me?"

"No," Erin said easily. "The worst he'll do is shout. He's fine."

"Okay then." Charlotte started typing, feeling a little anxious. Not exactly the start she wanted to her new job.

* * *

Friday rolled around surprisingly quickly. Harry felt just as depressed as what was becoming usual for him, but he had to begrudgingly admit that Charlotte was perfectly capable, if a bit young. Of course she didn't have Ruth's intelligence, but if he was waiting for someone of Ruth's intelligence and integrity he would be waiting an awfully long time. He was about to leave the office and go home when his mobile rang.

"Yes?"

"Harry, I wondered if you wanted a drink tonight," Claudia Brown's voice said.

"How did you get my mobile number?" Harry asked sharply. She had always contacted him through the grid, not on his private phone.

"I'm a journalist among my many faults," she said. "I have my ways. Drink?"

"Why? I'm not any good for company. I never will be."

"Forget it," she said quietly after judging his tone. "It was just a thought. I'm not going to impose my company on you if you don't want it."

"Not tonight," he said. "Thanks for the offer."

"Bye Harry," she said, quickly disconnecting the call. Harry put the phone down and felt deeply uneasy. But as he got in his car and drove, much to his surprise he found himself parking outside of the wine bar he'd met Claudia in last week. Was his subconscious telling him something he wondered. Or was it a coincidence. Being a spook for so long meant he no longer believed in coincidence. It would be wrong to decide to go along with it now when he chose to. "Stop thinking Pearce," he said to himself. He turned the ignition off and locked the car, heading into the wine bar.

"Harry," she said when he sat next to her. "I can honestly say I'm surprised to see you here. I thought my powers of persuasion weren't nearly good enough to extricate you from dingy Thames House."

"To be brutally honest Claudia, I don't know if I'm here to talk to you, or if its simply the lure of a fine whisky calling me," Harry said, ordering a drink.

"Did you drive here?" Claudia asked shrewdly when Harry had downed his first and ordered another.

"Yes. Why?"

"Curious," she said, a smile hovering on the corner of her lips. "You won't be able to drive home."

"That's what taxi's are for," he said. He hadn't really given it a lot of thought, except the for the attraction of whisky and easy uncomplicated conversation. It was a good distraction from the long and grief filled weekend he had ahead. They weren't even embroiled on a long operation so he couldn't reasonably go into work either. What he wouldn't give to have these long and free days with Ruth.

"Harry?" He turned to her, realising she'd been speaking and he hadn't heard a word.

"Sorry Claudia, I wasn't paying attention."

"I said, I hoped work went well," she repeated. "I'm not even going to try and talk about your personal life. After the loss you've suffered it would be rather pointless." Harry felt a brief sting of pain across his heart at the reference to Ruth but he didn't show it.

"You know how it is," he said. "Bad people wanting to blow us up. Us trying to put them behind bars. Its been fine," he surmised, not wanting to focus any of his free time into more terrorist scares. "Drink?" he suggested seeing her empty glass.

"You're paying? I am shocked Harry," she said good naturedly. "Yes. A drink would be very welcome. Thank you." Harry nodded to the barman, well on his way to getting drunk.

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**More when its written, hope this was enjoyable. Or maybe not considering the subject matter!**


	5. Chapter 5

**I've been debating with myself whether to post this or rewrite it to take the story in a different direction completely. I decided to go with it, so here's a short update.**

* * *

Harry awoke with a thumping headache. "Jesus." Last night he had drunk much more than he should have. He swung his legs out of bed and put his head in his hands, thumbs rubbing his temples trying to shift his rapidly approaching migraine. After a moment he thought he'd manage to stand up straight. He did, but that was when he realised that the room he had slept in was not a room in his own house. He looked around slowly as the events of last night came back to him in a blurry fashion. He already knew that when he turned back to the bed he would find Claudia Brown still lying there. As much as he wished to be, he wasn't disappointed. Her blonde hair was splayed over the pillows and she was clearly naked. Harry dressed as quickly as possible, horrified by what he'd done.

Flashes of the night before filled his mind. Much to his shame he had made the first move. He'd kissed her and she'd held back, saying that she wasn't the person he wanted. While this was true, it also wasn't what he wanted to hear. He had persuaded her somehow, although in memory it hadn't taken much and they'd gone back to hers around the corner from the bar. The memories he did have from that point on were vague and disordered. A flash of bare skin. A whispered unmeant endearment. Collapsing onto the bed in a whirl of need and comfort.

Because that is what it had been, Harry realised as he put his tie back on. It had been simply for comfort and nothing more. "Oh God, what have I done?" he breathed as he braced himself against the door. He couldn't face the woman he'd had a brief tryst with the night before, so like a coward he left before she woke, hailing a cab to go home.

* * *

Once he unlocked the door and disabled the alarm Harry fell apart. He hit the floor sobbing his heart out, unable to believe what he'd done. How deeply he'd betrayed her. _Ruth._ Before last night he had felt like an incredibly weak man. Now he realised just how weak he truly was. Ruth was barely cold in her grave and he'd… "Oh dear God, let me take it back…" he begged as the tears streamed down his face. He kept crying, unable to stop until he could barely see, his eyes were so red.  
Then he got up and had another drink.

* * *

That evening his actions really took their toll on his body. He felt a shooting pain down his left arm and then like an express train had thudded in his chest. "Oh God," he breathed heavily, dropping his glass which shattered on the floor into a thousand pieces. His knees went out from under him, crushing the glass, and that was the moment he realised what was happening. He was having a heart attack.

Thankful that his phone was in his pocket he dialled 999 as quickly as he could, trying to stay conscious. The pain was blinding. "Ambulance! He stuttered. "I'm having a heart attack. Help me." Harry told the operator his address and was informed that an ambulance would be with him in a matter of minutes. He just hoped it wasn't too late as his head hit the floor and he lost consciousness.

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**Please leave a review, and I'll get writing more of this story!**


	6. Chapter 6

"Harry Pearce?" the thirty year old woman asked the nurse behind the reception desk. She flicked through the files on the computer absently, freezing when she'd found the correct information.

"Are you a relative?"

"I'm his daughter," Catherine said. "Please tell me how he is!"

"He's in surgery right now," the receptionist replied, a look of appropriate sadness on her face. "I'm afraid your father had a heart attack. I don't know any further information but I will let the head surgeon know that he has family waiting for news."

"How long will that be?" Catherine asked impatiently.

"Heart surgery takes eight to twelve hours typically and he's already been in theatre eight. It shouldn't be too much longer. Take a seat." Clearly the opportunity for questioning was over as the nurse picked up her phone and called through to someone. So Catherine sat down in the waiting room, wondering why she hadn't called her father over the last few weeks. He'd told her that he'd lost someone special to him, but he hadn't made it seem like it was that important. So Catherine had barely given it any further thought. She now felt like a failure of a daughter and she shook her head at her own shortcomings. She blamed her father for so much but did she really make an effort to stay in touch? It went both ways after all. Did it really take a critical heart condition to make her see that? Catherine shook her had and after a moments thought called Graham. He might say he hated his father, but it was an act. And even if it were true, he needed to know that Harry had had a heart attack.

* * *

"How is he?" Catherine asked as a doctor approached her less than an hour later.

"Are you family of Henry Pearce?" he asked kindly.

"Harry," she corrected automatically. "Yes I'm his daughter. Tell me he's going to be okay. Please."

"He's alive," the doctor said. "It was touch and go for a minute or two, but he's alive."

"But?" Catherine asked sensing there was more.

"But he isn't breathing on his own," the doctor continued. "We repaired the heart muscle and its beating well. If your father doesn't start breathing… then he will die."

"How long?" Catherine asked. "Should he start breathing again?"

"A day or two," the doctor said. "If it goes as long as a week, I would say it will be extremely unlikely that he'll wake up. It all depends on him. He has to have the will and the want to carry on living. Tell me, has he suffered any stress or pressure recently? His heart seemed surprisingly healthy to suffer a cardiac arrest."

"Someone he was close to died," Catherine said. It was as much as she knew. "I thought he was coping," she said, feeling tears well at the back of her throat. "I thought he was fine." The doctor patted her arm sympathetically. "Can I see him?"

"Yes, but he will look in a bad way. Because he can't breathe, a machine is doing it for him and there's a tube in his throat. Also he'll have a large bandage on his chest. So prepare yourself." Catherine nodded, eager to see her father, whatever he looked like. When she opened the door she realised the doctor was right. She hadn't expected him to look like this. So defeated and small. So frail and human. She had never seen her father like this before. Catherine reached for his hand and noticed several small cuts.

"There was shattered glass in his house. He has several small wounds," the doctor said, noticing Catherine's interest. "Nothing to worry about." The doctor left Catherine and Harry alone for some privacy and she felt grateful.

"I'm sorry I haven't called you lately," Catherine said kissing her fathers cheek, and then rubbing her lip stick off of his stubbled skin. "I don't call you as and when I should, I know. But you could have called me to let me know how much trouble you were having. Useless you may be but I'm your little girl. And Graham's coming too. He doesn't want you to die either. As soon as I told him he tried to book a train. Probably better with his drunk driving history that he doesn't try driving himself. He wants to see you. And probably criticise you too," Catherine added. "You know him. But in order to really take his insults and throw them back to him… you have to be conscious dad."

No response but she hadn't expected one really. Even though it would have been nice. "I'll stay with you for a bit. Graham will be here tomorrow. Give you what for." She smiled ruefully at him. "I love you dad. Don't give up." She held his hand tightly and waited for something to happen. Some sign of life would be very welcome.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes feeling more whole than he had in years. He had a twinge in his back and had for years, but it had gone. His eyesight had returned whole and true and the scars on his chest, he noticed had faded completely. He felt more whole and human than he had since he was in his twenties. As the thought occurred to him, he wondered if he'd actually died. He remembered the intense pain in his chest and then the ambulance call but nothing else until five minutes ago when he opened his eyes. The hospital room was dark and no one was here. Even the machines were silent. Had he actually… died?

"Hello Harry." His eyes followed the familiar voice. And he saw Ruth standing by the window, a tiny smile on her face.

"Oh God," he said, sitting up as he took in all the details of her face. The tiny lines near her eyes. The vibrant blue of those same eyes staring back at him. The shape of her lips, the shade of her skin… No. That was paler than it had been in life. Meaning that it couldn't be her here. Or at least, it couldn't be her alive here in his hospital room. Eventually after drinking her in for silent minutes he found his voice.

"Ruth, you're here," he said, his voice broken. "Wait. Does that mean…? Am I… dead?"

"No," she said, her voice sweet to his ears. "Not yet."

"God, it is so good to see you," he said. He reached for her hand to touch her but she stepped back.

"You can't," she said in little more than a whisper. "I'm not real you see."

"How long are you going to be here?" he asked urgently, suddenly desperately afraid that she might vanish.

"Long enough," she said enigmatically. There was a very pregnant pause while they simply stared at each other, longing very evident in their eyes. "I'm sorry."

"What on earth are you sorry for?" Harry asked bewildered, at the same time as he suddenly noticed her skin had a luminous quality. She couldn't possibly be real. He shook his head to stop focusing on the impossibilities of her being here, instead appreciate that she was.

"I'm sorry for leaving too soon," she said sadly. "I wish I hadn't and I dearly wish things would have turned out differently."

"So do I," Harry said fervently. "I miss you. So much it hurts."

"So much it gave you a heart attack?" Ruth questioned, her eyebrow raised and her tone critical. "You think that's what I wanted?"

"None of this…" Harry started, a lump in his throat. "None of this is what either of us wanted."

"I know," she said.

"Ruth, I'm so sorry for what I did," Harry said, feeling terrible that he had to talk about this.

"I don't blame you," she said looking at her hands.

"Ruth…"

"I don't," she said. "It hurt, it did. But I know it meant less than nothing. You were looking for comfort Harry. I know that."

"How can you forgive?" he asked, surprised at her reaction.

"I've forgiven you everything in the past. No matter how much it hurt me," she said. Nothing she had ever told him had been more honest. Elena, lies, treachery, deceit… she forgave it all.

"I'm sorry anyway," he said. "I'll never be able to tell you how much."

"I appreciate that," she said, a tiny smile on her face. "I know you feel abandoned. I did not die on purpose."

"I know," he said. "I don't feel abandoned. I feel… lonely. And robbed of the time we could have had together. And I miss you. I miss you so much that it aches."

Ruth smiled at him for a moment. "Its not easy for me either," she said before changing the subject "You're in a bad way. More than emotionally I mean. Your physical heart."

"Could I die?" Harry asked bluntly. Ruth nodded, tears in her eyes. "Would I then be with you?" he asked.

"Yes, but you have to make a choice Harry," she said. "To live you have to fight for it. If you die, it'll be easy for you. You'll just let go and drift away. But you will be leaving your family."

"What family?" Harry said harshly.

"Your son is on a train coming down to London," Ruth said. "Catherine's already seen you, she's getting some sleep. And if you have the will and the courage to carry on with life… In a year you'll be holding your grandson."

"What?" Harry asked amazed. "Who? Catherine or Graham?"

"I don't know," Ruth said, smiling at his eagerness. "Harry, I don't want you to spend the rest of your life mourning for me and living for a ghost. You need to be able to move on. I'm not saying now. I'm saying sometime. It'll be a terrible waste otherwise." She smiled slightly. "I have to go."

"No, wait!" he pleaded.

"Harry, I can't make this choice for you," she said slowly. "I'm sorry."

"Come here," he demanded quietly. "I won't touch you, I just need to see you." She obliged and almost drifted towards him. He looked into that face he loved so well and longed to touch her. "I love you."

"You never needed to say that," she said. "I already knew. But for what its worth, I love you too." He smiled, glad to hear it even if he was dreaming. Or whatever this apparition of Ruth was. Her face was happy and he couldn't help it. He lifted his hand and touched her face. He felt a brief moment of coolness on his fingers and then she was gone. He was left with an empty hospital room and a heaviness in his eyes. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't fight the unconsciousness that hit him like a brick wall.

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**This is as far as I've gotten. I will post more when its written and thanks to everyone for the encouragement so far.**


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm really struggling with this one now I've written all I had planned, so just a small update.**

* * *

The next morning Catherine arrived early and held Harry's hand tightly, willing him to wake up. She'd been sitting next to him for about five minutes when a choking noise came from him and she panicked. Calling a nurse she looked on as a doctor arrived and took the tube out of his throat. "He's breathing on his own," the doctor said quickly. "This is good. He might wake up later today."

"That soon?"

"We don't know," he said. "But this is positive. We can do nothing but wait."

"Okay," Catherine said. "Thank you." The doctor left her alone with her father and Catherine resumed holding his hand. "Come on dad," she said. "Wake up. Please."  
She didn't have time to say anything more when the hospital door burst open and her brother stood there, breathing heavily. "Hi."

"Hi Cate," he said, his eyes still fixed on Harry. As Graham came into the room and sat on Harry's other side, Catherine noticed a new tattoo running from his wrist to under his T shirt sleeve on his right arm.

"New addition?" Catherine asked nodding to him.

"What? Oh, yeah," he added looking at his arm.

"Tell me you didn't do that just to wind dad up," Catherine asked.

"No," he said. "It'd be a good side effect though," he added lips twitching. "How is he?"

"Well, it was a heart attack," Catherine said. "The doctors aren't saying whether he'll make it. It's… touch and go. How are you?"

"Fine," he said. "You know how it is, I survive."

"That doesn't sound great," Catherine said.

"I'm preparing for when he regains consciousness," Graham said. "I'm good. I don't want to be… criticised."

"No offence Graham, but I think he has bigger problems at the moment." Graham smiled slightly.

"When will he wake up?"

"They don't know," Catherine said. "He might… might not."

"No, he will," Graham said. "He's tough. You know that. Dad won't succumb to death if he can help it."

"Someone close to him died recently," Catherine said quietly. "He's not coping."

"Well at least he has a heart."

"Graham," Catherine said critically. "Don't be like that. He's in hospital."

Graham sighed, knowing she was right. "I don't wish him any ill, you know that."

"Make sure he knows that before you go back to Edinburgh," Catherine said firmly. "How is Scotland?"

"Cold," Graham said firmly and she smiled.

"I'm going to get a coffee," she said. "Do you want anything?"

"No thanks," he replied, turning to their father again. Catherine left the room, thinking he'd want some privacy with Harry but he'd be too stubborn to ask for it. She took her time getting her coffee. Decaf she reminded herself.

* * *

Meanwhile Graham was left with his unconscious father at a loss for what to say or do. Even when they were both conscious their conversations didn't go too well. "Hi dad," he said. Then he felt foolish. His father couldn't hear him. Graham sighed, wondering when Catherine would get back when Harry opened his eyes. His breathing hitched and that was when Graham noticed. "Dad? Can you hear me?" he asked quickly. Harry's eyes moved and he focused on his son for a minute before speaking.

"Am I… alive?" he said in little more than a croaky whisper.

"Yes," Graham said, smiling at him. "How do you feel?"

"Like I have a three ton elephant sitting on my chest," he said, a ghost of a smile appearing on his face. "Water… please." Graham quickly did as he asked and helped him drink it for a few moments. It took Harry about a minute to recover from the effort of moving his head and he focused on his son. "You're here."

"I am," he agreed warily, not wanting any criticism, but knowing he couldn't leave Harry when he had just woken up.

"How are you?"

"I should be asking you that," Graham said. Harry didn't reply. "I'm fine," he added. "Happy and drug free."

"I'm guessing I'm not," Harry said catching sight of the tubes attached to his right arm. "I'm glad. I only ever wanted for you to be happy. I just…"

"Had a lousy way of showing it," Graham said quickly. Harry nodded, a tiny smile on his face. "I should get Cate. She's here, somewhere trying to get some coffee."

"You didn't have to come to see me," Harry said.

"You'd had a heart attack dad!" Graham said. "Of course I did."

"But I am very grateful you're here," he added weakly. "And your sister." Harry closed his eyes tiredly and slipped into sleep before he could stop himself, Ruth's face on his mind. Graham smiled at him before he quickly left to find Catherine. She'd want to see him.

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**I'd love it if you could leave a review, I feel like I'm letting this one go a bit. **


	8. Epilogue

**Okay, my ideas for HR are getting thin on the ground, so I've decided I'm going to revisit my old fics and complete them, which in some cases is only writing another concluding chapter, in others its picking up where I left off. I'm a little nervous about adding to my old fics, so I hope its liked.**

* * *

Harry sat in the hospital room with a tiny sleeping newborn bundle in his arms. His first grandson, as yet unnamed. He was only four hours old and he was absolutely tiny, owing to the fact that he'd shared his home with his twin sister for the last nine months. The baby girl was sleeping in her cot at the bottom of Catherine's bed, whereas the boy was awake, his vivid blue eyes staring at him. He was precious.

"Are they okay?" Catherine's hoarse voice said.

"Yes, they're both perfect," Harry said, smiling reassuringly at his daughter.

"Gorgeous." The baby boy started grizzling at hearing his mothers voice so Harry handed him over.

"Oh he's so beautiful," Catherine said smiling at him. "Where's David?" she asked, the father of her twins.

"He's making calls to his family," Harry said. "He asked me to keep an eye on you three."

"I've been meaning to ask you something," Catherine said after she'd looked at her son for a long minute. "About our little girl."

"Go ahead," Harry said softly, admiring her sleeping face in the cot. She had a shock of black hair covering her head, and to Harry she looked like a little princess.

"We want… David and I really like the name… Ruth for the girl." Harry stared at Catherine, his jaw open as his eyes filled with unexpected tears. He sat down heavily and tried to keep his breathing even. God, he missed Ruth so much. It was a constant ache in his heart, which had lessened only slightly over the past year. With the excitement of his new grandchildren for a few blissful hours he'd forgotten the pain of her loss. Now it came back with a vengeance.

"Dad, don't have another heart attack on me," she said quickly, her eyes showing panic.

"No," he said breathing heavily. "I won't. My cardiologist says I shouldn't expect a heart attack for another twenty years. I'm just… surprised."

"Look, I just wanted to ask you," she said. "It's fine if you don't want there to be another Ruth in your life. We'll pick another name. But I did want to ask you."

"I think… it would be fine," he said slowly. "Yes. Ruth's a beautiful name."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he said, more firmly this time. "But thank you for asking."

"I thought I should," she said. "David wants that name for a girl. His mother was called Ruth too."

"Can I hold her?" Catherine nodded. Harry carefully picked up the girl who was still asleep. He rocked her for a few minutes and then she opened her eyes. A piercing deep blue. "Yes, she is clearly a Ruth," Harry said, feeling only a slight pain over his heart with those words.

"You miss her don't you?" Catherine asked.

"Every day," he said. "And I feel like it was my fault she died."

"Was it?" Catherine asked bluntly.

"Probably in part," he said. "I was hiding my past from her. And it came back to bite me on the… Anyway. No, I didn't kill her, and I tried to protect her. I failed."

"How did she die?" Catherine asked. She'd never dared ask her father this before, but he didn't seem to mind.

"She was stabbed by an FSB agent," Harry said. "A stupid fragment of glass penetrated her chest. Her lung collapsed. We called for paramedics but they were too far away and she didn't have enough time to make it. I had my hand on the wound, trying to buy her time. It didn't work. She died in my arms." He took a shaky breath as the memories came flooding back. "I never even held her until she was dying."

"I thought you loved her," Catherine said confused.

"I do," he said. "Our relationship was… complicated. And that's putting it mildly. But yes, I do love her." Catherine noticed the present tense but didn't comment on it. At that moment baby Ruth started to gurgle. Harry smiled at her and tickled her foot gently. He knew she was far too young to laugh or smile but he wanted to see it anyway. "You have two beautiful children."

"I know," she agreed, a wide but tired smile on her face. "I'm never giving birth again so make the most of your grandchildren." Harry smiled and kissed Ruth's forehead, just before the baby sneezed adorably. Harry smiled and held her close, and for just a moment he felt the presence of his Ruth in the room. He couldn't have said how or why, but he felt her. Just as he had when he was recovering from his heart attack. And his heart felt light.


End file.
